


You Are Loved By Your Mother

by flowercrownfemme



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And You Are Her Baby, Does She Feed You Worms Or Breast Milk?, Ficlet, Genderqueer Harry Styles, Harry Styles Is The Mom, Momrry, Mother!Harry, No Gender Just Mama, She Lays Eggs, She/Her Harry Styles, You Decide, bird!harry, harry styles imagine, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrownfemme/pseuds/flowercrownfemme
Summary: Harry Styles laid an egg and you were inside that egg so now you're her baby and she loves you
Relationships: You & Harry Styles (maternally)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53
Collections: Momrry Fic Fest 2020





	You Are Loved By Your Mother

The first thing you notice is the warmth, before the golden light that filters in or the way you’re curled up tight. You notice the warmth that only grows when the light gets dimmer. You notice the warmth that comes with the faint sounds of muffled words you don’t yet understand and the soft singing of melodies you don’t recognize, with a light jostling of added weight. The warmth almost makes you wish you had more room, that you could stretch out and bask in it like a cat in the sun (if you knew what a cat was - or what the sun was, for that matter). You’re happy inside, where it’s warm and safe and you can tell by the shadows around you that you aren’t alone. You grow curious, though, about who it is that keeps you warm. You start to strain your ears when they’re near, trying hard to make out the words they whisper and the songs they sing. Their voice is the only thing you’ve heard but you can’t imagine that anything else could sound better. You want to hear more, to hear it unfiltered by any barrier. You want to see the divine creature who makes the sounds, who keeps you warm.

The first crack echoes around you and you’re startled by your own strength. You almost want to shrink back, to hide from the outside, but there is light coming through the crack you made and with it is more warmth. You can hear the voice outside more clearly than before and you want more of it. It coaxes you forward, back to the small jagged opening, and you push at it again.

Another piece breaks off and the light that pours in blinds you. You squint against it and feel another hand, much larger than your own, break off another piece of shell.

“There you are, Mon Petite,” the voice croons, as warm and sweet as honey in the sun. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You blink your eyes open and through the veil of bright sunlight you make out a figure leaning over you. With soft gentle hands they lift you from the remains of your shell and cradle you to their chest. You don’t know if they’re a man or a woman but the distinction would mean nothing to you if you did. They shield you from the sun and you can make out a kind smile on their face. You reach up to touch their chin and feel prickly hairs that tickle the sensitive pads of your fingers. They laugh joyfully at your exploration and the sound makes you smile.

“Who are you?” you ask, your eyes full of wonder.

The figure gazes down at you, their green eyes soft and full of love.

“I’m your mother,” they say, “and I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“What’s a mother?” you ask, trying to take in each piece of their face. As your eyes adjust more and more you can see a soft jaw and full lips and a pointed sort of nose. Their eyes are big and round and they sparkle whenever they meet yours.

“A mother is someone who takes care of you,” they explain. “A mother is someone who is here to love you.”

“Okay,” you say and your mother smiles. “And who am I?”

“You’re my baby,” your mother tells you, her voice warmer than the rays of sun that shine around you both. “You’re me and I’m you, and I’ve loved you for longer than you’ve existed.”

She holds you close and rocks you gently in her arms and the warmth of her skin without the barrier of the shell makes you feel as if you might melt. She sings to you, the same songs she’s always sung, but now you know that she is singing just for you. You don’t know what the words she sings mean but it doesn’t matter. You know from the way she sings them that they all mean  _ love _ . When you start to ache for something unknown she feeds you, filling your mouth with sweet flavors that warm you from the inside out. She fills your belly until you feel heavy and your eyelids start to close.

“Sleep, Mon Petite,” she whispers, and it’s easy to do as she tells you. “I’ll watch over you,” she promises, “and you’ll be safe.”

She sings again, softer, and your head lolls against her breast. You can hear her heartbeat, slow and steady, where your ear presses against her chest and the soft rise and fall of her breaths is a soothing rhythm that calms your mind. You’re safe here in her arms, just as you were in her egg. The warmth that radiates from her is like the warmth of the sun and as you drift off to sleep you wonder if you’ll live forever in the arms of your mother, cradled in sunlight and bathed in song.


End file.
